I was proud today wearing my name tag and small blue knapsack that some elder Indian man gave me. I walked in line with a small gathering of people who tried going to school, failed, and came back for another chance.
This was my 3rd school, and 5th chance. This was also the furthest I’ve ever gone.
Like I said, I was proud with my name tag on and to sit next to veterans returning to school, mother’s who had children too young, and men who made some dumb mistakes in the past. It didn’t matter today though.
Flashbacks of being asked, what I wanted to be when I “grow up” flooded as Deans spoke. In elementary they told you the sky was the limit. By middle school they brought you back to earth, and sadly by high school they demonstrated that you needed to be this tall to ride the coaster to the sky.
I went from being a doctor to a writer by 5th grade and haven’t really changed much from them. The people have though or maybe it’s the more than 5 year gap I have after high school.
“No you need to choose something that will be in demand. Something smart.”
“Why don’t you choose something fast, like medical billing?”
“Take this test and see what careers are good for you.”
This wasn’t the same speech that anything is possible. These were plan B’s ready for a failed plan A.
Then I remembered my journalism teacher who admired my writing.
Then again, he was crazy.
Surrounded my morons in a public school who didn’t want to learn shouldn’t be bothersome at all. Occasionally he threw a chair across the room. May have punched a wall, and didn’t believe in the grading system to be fair, and once drew how his crack addict ex-girlfriend use to cook narcotics with a light bulb. Makings of a great teacher, he refused to teach those who didn’t want to learn.
In the end it was me, a boy who was in the closet, and a very overweight girl who would write love poems about her crush then cry in the night, that stayed writing.
We had a lot in common.
It was the only sanctuary I found though when I lived in a hotel.
It was an amazing invention that perplexed me at the same time.
These were thoughts, opinions, emotions, facts, all in shapes and forms that would bring out something out of a reader and something out of the writer.
I zoned out for a while thinking about all of this, then someone read my name tag.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to write. I want to write anything, everything, and maybe even blog.”
There wasn’t a “take a test and see where you land” option, none of the salary questions, and not even a simple ‘no.’
I knew I was in the right place at the right time.
3rd time is the charm.
It’s never too late to go after what you love…
Except meeting Elvis Presley, he has sadly passed.
Rest in peace King.